Happy birthday to RidlesBroadway! So, Race and Romeo aren't exactly my forte, but I hope this turned out well. And I really hope you have a fantabulous year, Ridley!

March 1899

Romeo paused in his hawking of the day's headline, a shop window catching his eye. No, not the shop window. The man beside the shop window. He froze for a second, his brain whirring as he tried to sort through his oft-thumbed dreams and the glimmering reality just across the street from him, a stone's throw away. So close, so very close: Romeo imagined he could even feel the other man's breath stirring the air around them. Romeo pinched himself, wondering if this was simply a hyper-realistic dream, where colors were as vivid as the waking world, but the pain was real. And that could only mean that the man across the street was real, too.

The man was nearly a foot taller than Romeo, who was already tall and lanky for a thirteen year old, and sported dark brown hair, sticking out of a faded brown baseball cap. The man was laughing, his head thrown back and eyes crinkled with a joy that shone far brighter than any natural light Romeo had ever seen. He seemed so down to earth, so approachable, and Romeo was transfixed at the sudden appearance of his hero—of hope never forgotten—at the visitation of the god himself to the small world of Manhattan. Before Romeo could snap out of his trance and make his way across the street to a man he had only dreamed of finding, a carriage pulled up beside the man and he, ever-grinning, stepped into the vehicle. Then he was gone.

The city churned as it had before, citizens performing the dizzying dance that city-life dictated, stepping around each other with little to no notice of their waltzing partners. It was as if no one had noticed that an angel had walked amongst them, before being taken up to return to a world that Romeo knew he could never be a part of, no matter how much he had dreamed, how much he continued to dream. (No, stop dreaming. Stop. Dreaming. It wouldn't happen. It wouldn't. Happen.) Except, he could have been a part, he could have if he hadn't— The stream of passersby took no notice to where the man had stood, their shoes dirtying the sanctity of that section of sidewalk. Only Romeo remained frozen, staring at the sidewalk where his feet had stood, gazing at the light post that his fingers had grazed, looking at the shop corner where his laughter had echoed. Only Romeo had noticed his presence and he was conflicted between feeling blessed that he had even noticed the angel walking amongst the grubby humans, or ache from loss that he had not spoken to the other man.

A hard shove against his shoulder jerked Romeo from his reminiscing. "Hey, kid, what're ya starin' at?" a familiar voice queried. "Some pretty lady I should know 'bout?"

Romeo turned to Race, barely comprehending the questions. He felt as if he had been touched by the angel's presence and could not be bothered by the worldly questions Race was throwing at him, unlit cigar planted firmly between the other boy's teeth. "Buzz off, Race," he muttered, shoving past the older boy and readjusting his bag with the papes. He didn't want to return to the monotonous drone of everyday life, wished that he had followed the other man into the carriage and been swept away to a world of wonder that had once nearly been his.

"Hey, what's buggin' you?" Race asked, refusing to be shoved aside so easily. "You look like you'se seen a ghost."

"An angel," Romeo corrected. He paused a moment, considering. "No, a god," he asserted, his voice reverent.

"Yeah? Who's that?" Race challenged, doubtful of the other boy's awe.

"Bill Carrick." Romeo spoke the name with reverence, lowering his eyes at the memories that sprung forward as the familiar syllables rolled off his tongue. A kaleidoscope of greens and browns and carefree joy that Romeo could never have again. Unless...

"Bill who?" Race asked, scoffing. "I ain't even heard of him."

Romeo rolled his eyes. "There is more to this world than racing," he informed the older boy, starting to walk away.

"Hold up, ain't you gonna tell me 'bout this fancy-shmancy Bill Carrick that has you swooning in the street?" Race demanded, catching up to Romeo.

"Do you really want to know?" Romeo asked, stopping short and meeting Race's eyes, searching for derision or the familiar teasing light that seemed ever-present on Race's face.

"Yeah, sure, if he means that much to ya," Race said, shrugging.

Romeo hesitated for a moment, before remembering the bag heavy with papes strung across his shoulders. "Later tonight, okay? I'se still got papes to sell," he pointed out, gesturing at the papers carefully folded in his bag.

"I'll hold ya to it," Race informed the younger boy, slugging him gently in the shoulder. "I wanna hear 'bout this Bill Carrick fella now."

Romeo grinned softly, ducking his head. "Okay. Okay, I'll be sure to tell ya tonight." With that, Race allowed the younger boy to make his way further down the street, pulling out a pape and shouting some headline about a house fire that had spread throughout a neighborhood and that, for once, was true. Once Race had made sure the other boy was back to the routine of selling papes, he drifted away. He wouldn't admit it, but Race was actually somewhat excited to hear about this mysterious Bill Carrick that had Romeo so enraptured.

It wasn't until after the sun had gone down that Romeo finally returned from his day of selling. Romeo's eyes were clouded and his face pulled down into a soft frown that Race instantly hoped to replace; he wasn't sure whether the frown was connected to the Bill fellow or if the day had just been a hard one. It didn't matter, really. Race would just have to make sure the night ended with Romeo smiling. Race immediately cornered the kid. "You had dinner yet?" he demanded.

"I just got here," Romeo groused, stepping past Race and heading to the table where a couple day-old rolls from a nearby bakery had been deposited. "Whaddya think the answer to that question is?" Romeo sarcastically asked, biting into one of the rolls.

"Okay, okay, so you'se got your dinner now. Aren't ya gonna tell me about Bill Carrot?"

"Carrick," Romeo corrected, rolling his eyes. "And can't a guy eat his dinner in peace?"

Race shrugged. "I just want ta hear 'bout this Bill somethin'-or-other."

"Didn't think you was going to be so anxious," Romeo said, chewing on the hardened bread. "It's nothin' super exciting."

"There's got to be something exciting 'bout him if you were so shocked just by seeing the fella," Race pressed.

Romeo grinned softly and Race triumphed in the slight motion. "Okay, I'll tell ya." Romeo swallowed the last bit of his bread and headed out of the Lodging House, simultaneously surprising Race and striking him as the only logical path of action. Race and Romeo didn't have a penthouse up facing the stars like Jack and Crutchie had, but they still had a place to call their own. There was a small alley that ran behind the Lodging House and, if you followed it long enough through the maze of openings and dead-ends, there was a nondescript back door that Romeo had accidentally discovered trying to lose the Delancey brothers. The back door had been, miraculously, unlocked and led to an abandoned store with windows boarded up and no other entrance. Since then, Romeo had shown the building to Race and it had become their Fortress, as they had named it.

It was no penthouse, but it was theirs.

Race followed Romeo into the building, collapsing on a pile of old, flat pillows with soft feathers spilling out. The pillows had been scavenged throughout different alleyways and brought back to the Fortress. They had gathered enough to make the dark room more homey and comfortable. Romeo crossed the room, lighting the glass lamp that Race had nipped from Kloppmann's storage closet when the older man wasn't looking. The light beamed across the room, yellow and watery. Shadows stretched, crisscrossing the room: dark fingers that reached and brushed and tendered.

With a sigh, Romeo laid down on the pillows beside Race, pillowing his head with his hands. The boys remained silent for a while as Race allowed Romeo to sort through his thoughts. Race hadn't thought Bill Carrick was important enough to merit a trip to the Fortress. Clearly, the mysterious man meant more to Romeo than Race had originally suspected.

"Bill Carrick plays baseball," Romeo eventually explained.

"Ah, that clears it up," Race retorted sarcastically. He then frowned. He hadn't meant to mock Romeo's hero. "I mean—"

"No, I get it," Romeo said, laughing somewhat. "I'd react the same way if you were tellin' me 'bout one of them fancy horse riders."

"Jockeys," Race corrected.

"Whatever." Romeo fell silent for a moment, before continuing, "Anyway, he plays baseball. Just signed with the New York Giants last year." Softly, he added, "Bill Carrick's gonna be a star."

Race glanced over at Romeo, noting the soft frown that tugged at Romeo's lips. "How d'ya know all this?" he asked.

"There's more in the papes than the races," he pointed out.

"So, he's a baseball player. Why does that matter?"

"He's not just a baseball player," Romeo asserted. "He's Bill Carrick."

"Yeah, I got that the first time. What's so special about Bill Carrick?"

Romeo laid there for a while, before explaining. "When I was younger, I had a pa. He was good to me, not like Elmer's pa. We did all sorts of things together, when he wasn't working. It seemed like he was always working in that factory, but when he wasn't, he'd take me around and show me things. My old man, he really liked baseball. Taught me to throw and catch before I was six. We'd go to all these baseball games, just as often as he could afford to go." He laughed softly. "I think I still have that old glove. But, I lost the baseball to the Delancey brothers one day."

"Those jerks," Race agreed.

"Ah, well, it's fine. It's not like there was anyone else to toss the ball 'round with anyway."

Race sat in silence for a moment, waiting for Romeo to continue on, but the younger boy did not seem inclined to do so. Requiring Race to dig a bit. "So, what does this all have to do with Bill Carrick?"

"See, I used to know him," Romeo admitted.

"What? Really?" Race asked, turning over to face the young boy and propping himself up with his elbow.

Romeo shrugged. "Yeah, he was friends with my pa. Bill used to live in Pennsylvania and that's where my pa is from." Voicing dropping even quieter, Romeo added, "That's where I'se from also."

"You didn't grow up in New York?" Race asked, squinting in Romeo's direction.

"Nah, I'm from Erie."

"Eerie? You lived in some sorta ghost town?"

"No, Erie. Like the canal." Romeo smiled. "My pa had a small shop and he worked with all types of leather. That's how he met Bill Carrick. Made 'im a glove. Then they got to be real good friends and talked 'bout baseball all the time. I played baseball a bit with him and he was like the uncle I never had. He'd stay for dinner and… That was the happiest time in my life."

"So, how'd you end up in Manhattan?" Race asked. "Get sick of your little ghost town?"

Romeo pursed his lips together, before softly explaining, "My pa got real sick, a couple years back. I was ten, just barely, when he got sick. Bill was there just 'bout every day, making sure I had food and wasn't getting sick either. He actually told my pa—I wasn't s'posed to hear this, but I did and I just can't stop thinkin' 'bout it—but Bill told my pa that if the worst happened, if my pa passed on, he'd take me in like a son."

"Why are ya here, then?" Race quietly asked. He knew that the younger boy had shown up, an orphan, just over two years ago, but Race now didn't understand why that would've happened if the Bill Carrick fella had offered to practically adopt the boy.

"My pa did die. He was just… gone one day. And Bill was there when it happened and he said he was going to try and take me in, but I guess my ma had had a sister that offered to take me in instead. I had never met her. Aunt Caroline, was her name. See, my ma died when I was real little; I don't even remember her. But, Aunt Caroline was actually a relative and they said I had to go with her to Manhattan, 'though I really wanted to go with Bill instead. I stayed with Aunt Caroline for 'bout a year, before I ran and ended up comin' here and it was the worst year of my life. Bill used to write to me, but Aunt Caroline forbid me writing back and he eventually just stopped sending letters."

Romeo fell silent. "So, when I saw him across the street, I didn't know if I should go up and talk to him. I doubt he'd even remember me. And even if he did, it's not like he'd want me 'round. It's probably for the best that I didn't go talk to him. But, still…" Romeo breathed out. "Sometimes, I just can't help imagining what life with him might've been like, whether I'd've been happy."

"Ain't you happy here?"

"Yeah, 'course I am, Race. It's just… Never mind."

Race didn't press him, wasn't really willing to hear how much Romeo would rather have Bill than the newsies as his family. He resettled himself on the cushions, grabbing a blanket and pulling it up to his chin. They were family. Romeo was his brother. He wouldn't leave him. Just as Race was closing his eyes and allowing sleep to approach him, Romeo's soft words shattered all of Race's reassurances.

"But, I think if I saw him again, I'd talk to him. Just to see if he remembers me."

It remained unspoken, but it was there all the same, hidden in the tone and the way Romeo stared up at the roof with a small smile tugging at his lips.

Just to see if he could have a real family.

Race lofted one of the papers into the air. "Suspect to Neighborhood Fire Apprehended!" he shouted. It had been a successful morning, the headline was selling like wildfire, pun very much intended. These were the best days, Race thought. When the headline was exciting enough to sell and he didn't feel pressured to lie about the paper in hopes to get a couple coins. A small tap on his shoulder had Race half-turning to greet Romeo.

"Oh, you still have papes left? How embarrassing," Romeo teased.

Race gently shoved the younger boy away from him. "Can it, Romeo. You know I got more papes than you did today."

"That don't mean nothin'," Romeo replied cheekily. "I'se startin' to think I'se the better newsie."

"Oh, like hell you are, you little—" Race was cut off when Romeo quickly gasped.

"That's him," Romeo hissed, pointing to a group of men across the street. "That's Bill."

Bill Carrick. He wasn't anything like Race had imagined him to be after Romeo's praising, awe-tinged words. The man was average height, just on the border of being labelled short. He had brown hair the color of wet mud, and his pants were smudged with dirt. Carrick's shirt was mostly tucked in, only the back part had been left untucked, creating a duck tail that made the man look like a child who had dressed himself for the first time. He laughed, the noise loud and raucous and grating to Race. Carrick's eyes were small and beady, thick dabs of mud pinched against a nose that protruded hawkishly from a thin face.

Race glanced at Romeo, finding the younger boy enraptured at the sight. "I gotta talk to him. I gotta try," Romeo whispered.

And in that moment Race made a decision. He didn't know if it was right or wrong, or if it could even be labelled as such in this situation, but it was the decision he chose to make and damn the consequences. "No," Race quickly suggested. "Let me go talk to him and see if he remembers you. Then, if he doesn't, it won't hurt you none."

Romeo turned to Race, smiling. "Okay. Ask him—ask him if he remembers Peter Hollingshead. Little Pete, he used to call me."

"Sure will, kid," Race said, ruffling Romeo's hair.

"Thank you, Race," Romeo said, his voice earnest.

"Y-you're welcome. I'll be back in a second." With a deep breath, Race headed across the street, walking straight up to the infamous Bill Carrick. "'Scuse me, sir," Race began, addressing Carrick himself.

"What's up, kid?" Bill Carrick asked, glancing at the bag of papers strung across Race's shoulder. "You got a paper to sell to me?"

"Nah, I'se got a question for you," Race informed the man.

Bill Carrick smiled somewhat. "Okay, shoot."

And, in that moment, as Bill Carrick stared kindly at him and he could feel the weight of Romeo's gaze on him, Race doubted whether he was doing the right thing. Not that he had a choice. This was about family. And if you didn't have family, you didn't have nothing. "Did ya ever know a kid named Willie Peterson?" Race asked, blurting out the first name that came to his mind.

"Sorry, I haven't heard of Willie before, but I'm sure he's a nice kid," Bill Carrick replied, shaking his head.

"Okay," Race said, shrugging. "Thanks, anyway."

Bill Carrick smiled. "Have a great day, kid. You sure you don't need to sell a couple of those papers? My friends and I haven't gotten our daily newspaper yet."

"Well, if you insist," Race said, handing out the papers and receiving the coins. "It's got a good headline today, too. They nabbed that guy that started that neighborhood fire."

"Sounds real interesting," Carrick agreed, grinning. "Good luck, kid, and stay out of trouble."

Race ducked out of there quickly following Carrick's farewell. He crossed the street back to where Romeo was nervously glancing between Race and Bill Carrick. Race shook his head sadly. "Sorry, kid. He didn't remember."

Romeo shrugged his shoulders, but Race could tell the kid was hurting. For a moment, doubt crept into Race's veins, but he shook the icy feeling off. Probably Carrick didn't even remember the kid. "Ah, well, it wasn't like I expected him to remember," the younger boy muttered. "Probably was glad to get rid of me to my rotten aunt."

"And that's his loss," Race said, gripping Romeo's shoulder. "'Cuz, kid, you're the best family I'se ever had. And I know we ain't no famous baseball players, but you'se still got the rest of the newsies as your family."

With a small smile, Romeo nodded. "Yeah, I do. I think I'll head back home now. Thanks, Race, for trying anyway." Romeo gave Race a quick hug before skipping away to the Lodging House.

Race watched the younger boy disappear into the distance, the ghost of the hug still burning on his chest. He glanced back at Carrick who, to his infinite surprise, was buying a second pape from Specs and Race had to wonder just how many papers the baseball player had already purchased. For a moment, Race questioned that he had made the right decision. Carrick seemed like a nice enough fella, someone that could, maybe, actually provide a loving home for Romeo. And maybe it was selfish and maybe it was wrong, but Race refused to give up his brother.

He was no angel.

So, what did y'all think? Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated.